


Dreams

by randomlilthings



Series: Different lives [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!, カテキョ! | Katekyo! | Private Teacher!
Genre: 8059, AU, Alternate Universe, Dorks, Dreams, Fluff and Angst, Hurt, M/M, Parallel Universes, Smut, Wet Dream, baseball player yamamoto, pianist!gokudera, yamagoku - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-11-09
Packaged: 2018-04-10 16:03:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 13,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4398332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/randomlilthings/pseuds/randomlilthings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alternate Universe. Gokudera is now a famous pianist and his life is smooth sailing until he starts having recurring dreams. His life starts unfolding from then...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damn dream.

**Author's Note:**

> **  
> Part of the "Different lives" series. This is the alternate/parallel world version.
> 
> This started out as a side project and one shot has evolved further from that. Not beta-ed.
> 
> Enjoy!  
> **

_He reached his hand out, wanting to touch that blurry vision. It was familiar. He must have seen it somewhere but he couldn't recall. The lines so defined and yet, at the same time Gokudera couldn't remember. Before his hand could make contact, the scene had changed. This time, he remembered. This was Italy. Back home, where he grew up. But, something was different. The people surrounding him had a different air around them. And what was that... Was that..._

Gokudera woke with a jump. The blanket pooled at his hips as he sat up, in cold sweat. "Fucking dream." It has been haunting him for a good two weeks now. It was always the same one. But he has no recollection of that ever happening. The smoker ran his fingers through his hair, reaching over to the bedside table to turn on the lamp.

It was always the same dream. He would dream of a certain figure, a face but he doesn't know who it was. The visions were always a blur and he couldn't tell who it was. All he knew was, it was a man and they seem... Intimate. Then, they would be involved in some fight and Gokudera would wake because of the explosions... _**That he threw**_.

Rubbing his eyes, he shook his head. That wasn't the life he knew. It was nothing like the one he led. But why was he dreaming of it, night after night... The male could only blame it down to the many mafia movies he enjoyed secretly. Gokudera lit a cigarette despite all the protests his agent made, he couldn't seem to kick the habit.

He curled his legs under him, criss crossing them, as he leaned against the headboard of the bed, smoking. Being a famous pianist had it's perks in certain ways. He could enjoy all the finest things in life, as he wanted and loved. The most luxurious rooms and food. Yet, as he sat there, smoking his cancer stick, he felt a little lonely.

Tilting his head, his mind wandered back to the figure in his dream. It must have been a stranger he found attractive before. That was it... Lips curling into a half smile, Gokudera laughed at himself. He was pathetic. Dreaming and yearning for a complete stranger but he couldn't shake off the feeling that he knew that man and was missing some very important information.

The room seemed so large right now. The bed too sparse for just him and Gokudera chided himself for even thinking about that right now. He had everything he wanted. Fame as a pianist and fortune so that he didn't have to live off his parents and family. He was lonely though but that came with forsaking a life of family, friends and lovers.

Stubbing out the cigarette, he got out of bed. If he wasn't going to be able to sleep, he was going to be productive. He was going to take a shower and then, practice.

 

* * *

 

At the same time, someone else had been disturbed from his slumber. He woke with the same jolt, sweating and shaking. To him, it was the same dream for two weeks as well. His fingers would touch long pale hair and he noticed the small smile before he was pulled into a different world. One, he didn't recognise in his world of baseball.

Frowning, he rubbed his temples. This was not helping. It's been two weeks and still, he couldn't get any decent sleep. Everything felt familiar and foreign at the same time. He knew he would recongise that figure but the features were blurred that he couldn't. Groaning, Yamamoto fell back into bed, hoping to get some sleep. He had practice the next day and his coach would have a go at him if he was unattentive.

Two weeks...

The dream has lasted for two weeks...

That is how long Yamamoto has been back in Japan after a long baseball friendly tour in America...

That is also how long the famous pianist has been in Japan for his Asian tour...


	2. Vivid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreams are slowly revealing different parts of a life he didn't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight description of character death in this chapter. A little angst involved. But I promise all the angst will be worth it.

The scene was a lot more vivid. It was as though he was there. He could feel and taste the stale air hitting on his skin. There was a sting on his side, pressing his hand against it, he found it damp. Raising his hand, he saw the thick red liquid dripping and he swear he would have fainted. But he didn't.

Blinking, he scanned the area but had no clue what was he looking for. He staggered forward. _Someone..._ He was looking for someone. Smoke made him squint his eyes. His vision was blocked by all the explosives going around him. Then again, it seemed like he was the start of all those eplosives.

His foot kicked something and he lowered his gaze. what he saw made him take a couple of steps back. His eyes narrowed at the figure lying lifeless on the ground. Pools of blood stained the clothing but he recongised that figure. It was the same one he always dreamt about. Squatting down, he pulled the face up and at that moment, something else exploded, waking him.

"Fuck." His mood was definitely going to be the worst today. The dream had ventured further that it has ever been He was this close to seeing the face. "Fuck." Annoyed at his badly timed dream, he sat up, turning for his pack of cigarettes. As he lit up a stick, he wondered why had he been able to move to another phase in his dream.

It was not like he could talk about this to anyone. Not even his agent. They would probably tell him to cut down on his smokes and sleep more. That it was just him needing rest. But what would they fucking know... He was trying to get rest. That fucking dream was what keeping him from the rest that they said he needed.

"Fuck." He tossed his silver lighter on the bed. Irritated with the lack of proper rest, he was a little glad that he didn't have a show that night.

Though he was annoyed that he didn't get to see the face of his mystery man, something made him feel a pang of saddness. Something that he couldn't put a finger on.

 

* * *

 

Yamamoto was groaning. His hand touched something sharp and he almost cut his fingers. Wincing, it was painful to even get back on his feet. Coughing, he hugged an arm around his middle section. This wasn't how he had imagined he would have died. Not even if it was a dream...

He laughed, choking a little and he coughed out blood that splattered on the front of his expensive suit. Damn... He got it dirty now. He knew someone who get pissed at him for ruining a perfectly nice suit but he couldn't put a name to that thought. Someone who always smelt like cigarettes.

Just as he was thinking about that, something hit him. Eyeing the figure that hovered above him, the scent of cigarette smoke hit his nostrils and he instantly knew this was the person. He squint his eyes, trying to see better but his vision was blacking out. He was losing the battle and he struggled.

Then, he was awake.

His eyes stared at the white ceiling of his apartment and he groaned. Instinctively he checked both his hands for any injuries. The dream felt too real. No brusies or scratches. Good. That meant all those was just a dream.

The dream has brought him even further than before. But it always felt as though he had no control over it. He would always wake the moment he was close to revealing the face that haunted him. Despite not being afriad or alarmed, he would wake at that point. It was as if he woke because the dream stopped playing.

As if, he was just an actor to the movie playing in his mind and he woke only because the director had stopped fliming.

If he only knew that somewhere, three streets away, someone was playing the role of the director...


	3. I'm sorry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Talks about character death.

The blurred lines were now becoming clearer. Gokudera realised that each time he had given up trying, the face would materialise faster. He saw the scar on the man's chin and frowned. There was a sudden feeling of pain and hurt and he wondered why.

Blood was dirtying his suit and for once, he didn't care. The man who now laid in his arms was smiling. Idiot. It was obvious that he was bleeding to his death so why was he smiling. This was ridiculous. Why was someone dying in his arms and this insane person was smiling. Gokudera felt like slapping that smile off his face but something prevented him from doing it.

That smile was so warm and he leaned forward, hugging the almost dying man. A strong wave of emotions hit him. Fear, pain, anger, saddness... Emotions that he couldn't explain.

A name almost slipped from his mouth. He felt himself moving his lips but he couldn't hear. He tried listening but nothing.

Something pulled him from his sleep.

"Hayato... You're late." His fucking annoying agent comes at the most annoying times. Clenching his fists, he sat up. "Fucker." Which was met with a shrug and nonchalant look. "Practice at the concert hall is in an hour. You might want to wash your face before anything."

His face...?

Gokudera touched his cheek, feeling it damp. Had he been actually crying in his sleep... "'tch." He turned his head away, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. "Get the fuck out. I need a shower."

 

* * *

 

This dream was getting out of hand. Now he was laying helpless in someone's arms and that person was crying with a frown on his face. The features now clearer that he could see the emerald irises that were staring down at him. Tear drops fell on his cheeks and Yamamoto smiled.

His lips moved and he although he couldn't hear his own voice over all the chaos, he knew what he would have said. "I guess I screwed up." This time as he tried to move his arm, he was trying to reach for the crying face above him. He was trying to wipe the tears away from the handsome face. He was trying to run his fingers through the silver hair. "I'm sorry."

Regret filled him but he smiled. At least he was glad that this was the last face he would be seeing before... As he smiled, he noticed the menacing look he got. Seems like he got in trouble again. Yamamoto laughed and his lips moved again.

But before he could finish, his alarm for the day rang and he woke.

The baseball player, then, realised this was the first time he had woken from that dream by something else. Frowning, he tried recalling the image he saw and couldn't shake the feeling of regret.

He knew what he was going to say... He remembered.

_**I love you.** _

And he wondered why.


	4. Nostalgia

The scar on the man was fresh on his mind. The pianist couldn't shake that familiar feeling. Even though he was a hundred percent sure that it was a stranger he had been crying for, he still couldn't understand why he felt that pang of familiarity. Nor could he fathom why he had tears for the man in the first place.

Gokudera was staring at his reflection in the mirror after taking a long shower. He couldn't care less about what his agent was harping on about outside. Something about a conference or something... There was always one of those that he needed to attend and be civil. His agent always warned him to socialise. Apparently to survive in this industry, he needed backers that would sponsor his music. He couldn't understand why he couldn't just fund his own music. It's not like he wasn't filthy rich. His agent always shot the idea down. Gokudera secretly thought that his agent worried about his own job.

He pictured the man's features in the mirror. A vague face imaged on the reflective surface. A chiselled jawline framed handsome features. Narrowed, focused eyes were staring back at him. The smile softened the overly serious features and it warmed his chest. The smoker raised a hand up, tracing the fake image and then dropped it.

Splashing water on his face, he sighed. He must be losing it. Here he was yearning for an image his mind cooked up. Gokudera wasn't even sure it that was a real person anymore. It may have been pieces of memories of people placed together to form that man. He doesn't even know anymore.

A knock to the door interrupted his thoughts and he couldn't be more relieved.

"I'm confiscating your cigarettes if you don't come out soon..." Gokudera rolled his eyes and pulled opened the bathroom door. "Don't you fucking dare." The Italian stepped out with a towel around his hips, ignoring his agent.

 

* * *

 

"Good hit!" A smile played on his lips. This was where he felt the most at ease. Although it was one of his rare off days, Yamamoto was spending it at a hitting range where he used to bat frequently. It was quiet so he wouldn't get any crazy fans bothering him.

Waking up to that dream bothered him so he decided to come hit some balls. Swinging the bat made him feel comfortable even though it gave him a bad shoulder a couple of years ago. A ball came directly at him and the baseballer swung his bat, returning the ball towards the net. The digital reader showing he just hit the ball at his best speed.

Smiling, Yamamoto wiped down his face with a towel. His bat rested on his shoulder as he leaned causally against the counter, chatting with the old man who ran the place. Nostalgia... It was nice reminiscing once in a while.

Something about the dream gave him that same feeling too. It wasn't the dream per say but the man that invaded his thoughts. The long strands of silver that frame a small face. Piercing green eyes that seemed too sad on that handsome face. Yamamoto was certain that he was over thinking it. He would never forget a face like that if he has met someone like that. Never.

He bid the old man goodbye. Maybe a couple of drinks would help.


	5. Long nights

Conferences were always the same. He had to sit at a long table, pretending that he cared about all these media and pretentious little fucks. That made him one of them too. But his agent had kept his new pack of smokes and was refusing him any drinks until after the event.

The pianist was itching for a stick and it was starting to show. His agent placed a hand on his shoulder, lowering his head, acting as though he was telling Gokudera something important but all he was saying was to keep his temper in. These were important guests, apparently.

So, the Italian put on his mask, smiling at the old farts wanting to have a word with him about his music. The media was always asking the same questions.

His name was Japanese, did he have roots here? What was his inspiration for his music? Did he have a muse? Who were the musicians he looked up to?

And each time he had to answer these, Gokudera gave textbook answers. Ones he had memorized enough to say with a straight face and a slight smile. His eyes wandered to the silver watch around his wrist and he mentally sighed. Almost done. He could have killed for a smoke right now.

Thinking about that, his mind went back to his dream. Vivid as it seemed, the pianist knew it was all but a dream. The man in it did piqued his interest, despite his brain telling that it was impossible that the man was real.

Gokudera smiled as he gave another meaningless handshake.

_God, he wished this was over soon._

 

* * *

 

Yamamoto had dropped off his gym bag back home and had taken a long shower. His coach had told him about some big shot company wanting to sponsor him and this could mean he was moving on to bigger fields and better wages. Though he hardly complains about those but his coach had persuaded him to meet with the boss.

Dressed in a causal home team tee, he grabbed his leather jacket as he headed out of the apartment. Since he was going to be out late, he decided to drive. His mates had laughed at him about the car. It was too flashy but Yamamoto had loved the sleek design of the Italian designed car.

The meeting was supposed to be a causal greeting but he knew first impressions played a huge part. Though he liked being laid back but he could be a little serious as well. His coach was going to meet him at the venue. Some piano bar at some fancy hotel. Not a big fan of those swanky places, but he figured the boss just wanted to flaunt his wealth.

_This was going to be a long night._


	6. Glances, finally.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meetings weren't the best but certain meetings could end up with smiling idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Relatively long-er chapter compared to the earlier ones as I wanted to compile the same day events into this.

He was thanking God for the stick between his lips even though he didn't believe in God. A tiny stream of smoke led from the end of the cancer stick and Gokudera was now hiding in the smoking room, away from the pestering old men who wanted to give their input to his music. He didn't need them telling how he should be writing his music or playing. Two hours with them was enough.

His agent knew where to find him so he is assuming that since he was left alone means he was safe. That was the most socializing he could muster for the night. Gokudera was debating whether he wanted another stick before leaving the room. But as he checked the pack, he found it empty.

Cussing under his breath, he crushed the box and stood from the chair he had rested in. The room was hazy even though he was the only one in there. His clothes would stink of cigarette stench but he didn't care. The only one who would care was his agent and he wasn't here.

Gokudera left the room, ready to escape back to his hotel room.

 

* * *

 

Stepping into the hotel lobby, Yamamoto immediately felt like he was underdressed. He wasn't sloppy or what but just the entire atmosphere of the place spelt expensive. He stared down at his leather jacket and dark jeans and started sighing. Maybe he should have dressed smarter in a shirt.

But it was too late anyway.

The lobby was lush with decorative ornaments that looked to be European design. The baseball player was no expert but they look European. The tiled flooring squeaked a little as he stepped towards the bar. Even the air smelt different in here.

He was looking everywhere with awe as he caught a familiar scent. His eyes widened, trying to source the scent. Dark orbs landed on a head of silver and his chest tightened.

 

* * *

 

Gokudera didn't bother telling his agent that he was heading back to his room. If the man needed him, he would know where to look. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, he head straight for the elevator, not noticing the pair of focused eyes looking at him.

Meanwhile, a certain baseball player was following the every movement the head of silver was making. Yamamoto stood there, blindsided for a second before he reminded himself to breath. There was not a possibility that it was the same face from his dream. It couldn't have been.

He watched the other stood before the glass elevators, hands in his pockets, tapping his foot. Yamamoto tried making his way over. He couldn't help himself. His feet brought him forward.

The other man looked decent. He was dressed in a nice suit but his temper didn't seemed to be one to be trifle with. That impatience was an obvious sign of that. He could also smell the strong stench of cigarettes as he stepped closer.

A string of fluent Italian hit him and he was even more intrigued by the mysterious man.

But he never did get to stop the man. Yamamoto was stopped just before the elevator by his coach. He had forgotten about the meeting the minute he was hit with the smell of cigarettes. Distracted by his coach, his eyes left the impatient man only to have the spot empty when his eyes turned back.

The baseball player shook his head when questioned about his behavior because he didn't know what he was doing either. He almost walked up to a stranger to chat him up. When was the last time he did that... College... Or something. It must have been his eyes playing tricks but the strong familiar smell stayed with him throughout the entire meeting.

 

* * *

 

A second cigarette was stubbed out on the ashtray. Annoyance spelt across his face as he lit a third. It was three in the morning and he has yet to get any decent sleep. Gokudera had gone to bed early, expecting that he would be distrupted by his occurring dream again.

But, he was awake tonight not because of the dream. His body had jolted awake once at twelve but when he woke, he didn't remember any bit of the dream, unlike before. The pianist didn't really care and was only glad that the dream had stopped.

However after waking up for the third time without the dream bothering him, the Italian was cussing and irritated. Even when he wasn't dreaming, he couldn't sleep. So, he was now standing outside with a thick robe around him, leaning against the low rail of the balcony with a cigarette between his lean fingers.

The cool night air was calming him a little but if he didn't get any sleep tonight, his agent better be prepared to deal with him then.

 

* * *

 

At three in the morning, Yamamoto was still loitering at the hotel lobby with his coach causally leaning against him. They didn't have practice the next day so his coach had let it go with the alcohol. The original plan of coming here to show his face, entertain for a bit and then leave went down the drain when his coach started pushing him more glasses of the expensive whiskey.

The meeting had gone rather well even though his attention had been on the smell of cigarettes lingering around him. His head would turn whenever he thought he had picked up the scent.

Despite not being a frequent drinker, Yamamoto still held his liqour quite well. At least, better than his coach who was now muttering quiet plays under his breath with his entire body weight on the baseball player. The alochol did affect him a little and it was going to be impossible to drive home that night.

Half dragging, half carrying the older man's body, he went towards the hotel counter, asking for two connecting rooms. Staying the night would be safer than driving him in his intoxicated state. Yamamoto collected the keycards from the smiling lady and lifted his coach towards the elevator where he had saw his mystery man earlier.

 

* * *

 

Sulking was getting him nowhere. Plus, he was out of cigarettes _again_. His agent kept nagging at him about dying young because of the amount he smokes and Gokudera tells him to stick his nose into his anus. The pianst was pulling on a pair lounge sweats and a hoodie. It was in the middle of the night, no one was going to judge him for his outter wear.

Though he may look like a decent looking man dressed in his fine Italian suits and polished shoes, Gokudera used to be a street punk when he was younger. Way younger when he was rebelling against his family. So even now when he is dressed in an oversized hoodie, he didn't look out of place. In fact, the smoker looked comfortable and smug.

A scowl etched on his face as he closed the door to his room.

 

* * *

 

The elevator played a symphony of some sort. Yamamoto could only recongise that it was piano. That was it. His knowledge on music could be on par as his knowledge on Mathematics. **Pathetic.**

His coach was already asleep by the time the elevator doors opened at their floor and he was glad that the carpeted floor was lush enough for him to easily drag the older man. The baseball player could see another figure coming towards them and he stood rooted.

Blinking several times, he watched as the head of silver coming closer. This time, he reminded himself to pinch his cheek. That hurt so this was not a dream. That man was a living breathing person and he was walking towards Yamamoto.

His coach slipped forward and he almost let the older man fall but he caught him just in time. His eyes were still watching the figure come closer.

When their eyes met, dark eyes widened. It was the same piercing green eyes, staring back at him.

"The fuck you staring at?" The words that came at him was a surprise. Yamamoto could feel the annoyance emitting from the shorter male. Yamamoto was taller, that he noticed when they were a couple of steps from each other.

"You might want to wipe that drool from your lips, idiot." Gokudera rolled his eyes. This was not the first time he has met someone who would stare him down. But this idiot was blocking the elevator with his frame and the drunkard with him. "If you're going to get room with drunkard here, move the fuck away."

His mystery man was a foul mouthed, hot tempered man. And that somehow had the baseball player chuckling. Which earned him a raised eyebrow. "I'm sorry... Here." Yamamoto turned himself with his coach, pressing for the elevator for the cussing man.

Gokudera realised he didn't mind the laughter or the voice of the idiot. It felt warm. Something didn't click. It felt familiar as well. His mood was keeping him from a clear mind and the puzzle pieces only joined when he turned and saw the right side of the idiot.

That scar.

But it was too late, he was already in the elevator and the doors were closing but the idiot was still smiling at him.

Well, now he's an idiot too. Because he was smiling a little. He doesn't feel insane now.

_Now, there were two smiling idiots._


	7. Damp dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After their first encounter, their dreams continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Slight smut mentioned in a wet dream.

Returning back to his room, he slowed his pace, wondering if he could source the room that the smiling idiot was staying in. From the drunkard state the other man was, Gokudera was guessing that they were just staying for the night. He wondered if the drunk man was a random stranger the idiot picked up or they knew each other...

But he stopped himself before his mind wandered too far. He did that often. Thinking too much and investing too much energy on things he didn't know. It was not his business who the idiot was spending nights in hotels with. He did wonder if the idiot was a paid service. He did hear those were rather popular even in Japan.

Gokudera shook his head. He needs to get laid if he's thinking about that.

Behind a closed door, a certain idiot was still smiling after taking a shower. He had left his coach still dressed on the bed before heading into his own room, leaving the connecting doors unlocked, just in case.

He was smiling because he could now certify that he was not seeing things and that he was not insane. The man from his dreams was an actual person even if he didn't know why he was in his dreams in the first place. Yamamoto was certain that today was the first time he has seen the man so why would he even be dreaming about him.

Those fierce emerald eyes couldn't have been a coincidence. Neither was the head of silver. But at least, now he knew it was a real person that he could talk to and maybe find out about. He noticed the look of recognition as the elevator doors closed. Green eyes widened as their eyes met once more as the elevator descended.

As he laid down in bed, for once, he didn't mind having one of those dreams. Though weird but it meant he could stare at those green eyes again and not feel like he was a crazy person.

 

* * *

 

Fingers were tracing a pattern down his back and his body was reacting to the touch. Arching a little, a soft moan passed his lips. Sweat was dripping down limbs and he had covered his face with the soft pillow, trying to muffle the pleased sounds that was threatening to escape.

He couldn't see the face but he knew this man was no stranger. The way he was touched meant this was not the first time for them. He could hear the low grunts of lust as his toes curled and he joined in the chorus of wanton sounds.

A body slumped over his and he could feel the heavy pants on his skin, cooling a spot on his shoulder. A soft kiss to that spot sent a warm feeling that heated up his entire body. His was panting but a grin spread on his face, obscured by the pillow.

"I love you, Hayato."

Gokudera woke, eyes wide. He could reconigse that voice. He had just heard it, at the elevator. It was the same smooth voice. Groaning, he sat up, face palming. _This was not happening._ He just had a wet dream about a complete stranger. "Fuck." He got out of bed. Now all he needed was a cold shower.

_Hayato._

So, that was the man's name. Completely embarrassed that he just had an inappropriate dream about a stranger he had been staring at, Yamamoto was still a little amused. He sat up, throwing the covers off. He really needed to get laid if he was dreaming weird stuff like that.

Biting on his lips a little, he moved off the bed for the shower.

Both couldn't shake off the feeling that the dream felt too real and too good.


	8. In the elevator

His mood was definitely not the best today. His agent could feel it even before the pianist had thrown the first curse at him. The strong smell of cigarettes was the first sign after he had opened the door. It was worse today. Second sign surfaced when he came face to face with his client showered and dressed but had a scowl on his face. Sighing, he pulled his schedule book out. "I know you hate having conferences, but last night proved to be rather successful as we managed to secure a large amount to fund your next project."

As if to curb the raising wrath that was emitting from the pianist, he added. "Your next project, which is to fund talented musicians and have them under your label." That got him a positive reaction. At least not a growl or something.

Gokudera stubbed out his cigarette and stood from the plush arm chair. After his incident with the dream last night, he barely slept a wink. Stupid idiot and his voice. The pianist was annoyed but that piece of good news was music to his ears. "Fucking finally." His eyes narrowed at his agent. "And I thought you disapproved of my plans."

His agent, a man a couple of years younger than he was with light brown short hair, shrugged his shoulders. "It seemed profitable right now. With your fame right now, we have sponsors wanting to be included in the 'Next Best Thing'. It's no wonder they couldn't keep themselves from you."

His agent, who could be a bastard at times, chuckled and Gokudera rolled his eyes at him. "Speaking about last night, I hope you had a good enough rest for your concert tonight. A few of the major sponsors have tickets for tonight and it would be best if you performed at your best." A warning look was given and the Italian gave his agent the finger.

"Did you think I would screw around with my music, bastard. I'm hungry. Don't bother me." Gokudera didn't mention all his weird dreams to his agent because he had thought it was strange at first. Now, it just got strange- _r_. With the man being an actual person and that dream last night.... No way was he telling him.

 

* * *

 

Checking on his coach first before he left his room for the complimentary breakfast at the hotel's restaurant, Yamamoto left a note by his coach, stating where he would be. Still dressed in the same clothes he came in, the baseball player was glad that he always kept a couple of spare otufits in the trunk of his car for situations like this.

_Hayato..._

That name lingered on his lips as he left the room. Remembering that the man had came towards the elevator from the far end of the corridor, he turned his head towards that direction, as though trying to catch a glimpse. Laughing at himself when he didn't see anyone else, he turned and headed for the glass elevators.

He was starting to involve himself with a man he barely knew besides the dreams and his name which might not even be true. Yamamoto was making himself sound insane in his mind, not caring that he was talking to himself in his mind.

Someone else was waiting for the elevator, he realised before he raised his gaze from his cellphone and noticed the hoodie that he had seen last night. Today, however, he was hit with the same scent of cigarettes mixed with a musky after shave.

Yamamoto slipped his hands into his pockets and pretended to causally walk up to the man even though his heart was racing a little. He wanted to find out more about the cussing Italian and to see if he was exactly how his dreams had depicted him to be.

 

* * *

"Slow huh?" He asked, staring at the blinking numbers that stated which level the elevators were at.

Gokudera's eyes widened at the voice. That fucking voice that has been haunting his mind since that fucking dream. _**Screw that.**_ It was not even a dream. It was just his mind going on a wild goose chase with his imagination after seeing the man. He did not just have a wet dream about this stranger with a scar. **He. Did. Not.**

Instead of replying, the pianist actually sent dagger stares towards the man who had smiled at him last night. Seeing the death stare glaring at him, Yamamoto smiled again.

Maybe he wasn't a morning person. At that moment, the elevator dinged and saved him from staring at the glare any longer.

 _That damn smile._ It did things to him. Gokudera couldn't help but remember the scene with said stranger dying in his arms and smiling. He couldn't stop replaying that scene as they both entered the elevator. All he wanted to do then was to slap that smile of. "Idiot."

Before he could stop himself, he let that slip out. _Shit._

"Huh?" Yamamoto gave a puzzled look and pointed at himself. It was odd that word came up. He vaguely remembering that used as an endearing insult on him during his dreams. No way. It was just a coincidence.

"Nothing." Gokudera turned his head away, scowling. Why was he behaving like a blushing school girl next to this man...

The ride down was painfully long since they were on the thirty fifth floor. The baseball player fidgeted while Gokudera was stealing glances and he noticed that the stranger was still dressed in the same clothes from before. He was assessing the man when the idiot spoke again to fill the silence between them.

"I wonder where the hotel gets their music for their elevators. This is nice." He was staring aimlessly out of the elevator and smiling. The pianist realised the man looked so warm that if he got any closer, he might melt. That smile looked good on him.

"They find solo musicians without any record labels and ask them for the music pieces." Yamamoto was surprised he even got a reply, though the words sounded strained and forced. "And for your information, idiot, this is a tragic story about families." Gokudera realised he might have said too much and bit on his lip.

"Oh. Wow. Are you one of those musicians or something?"

Lucky for him, the doors opened and Gokudera escaped out of the confined space before he said anything more. Disappointed and a little dejected, the baseball player watched as the Italian hurried his way out towards the hotel restaurant.

Maybe he would have another chat with the shorter male in the restaurant. Now, he was interested in the music playing in the elevators so he made his way towards the front desk, with questions about the music and possibly Hayato.

 

* * *

 

If the idiot had been hoping to catch Hayato again in the restaurant, he would be disappointed. The pianist had stepped out for a smoke and had decided to walk down the street to a cafe for better coffee. The one served in the hotel was overly strong and overrated. He liked his coffee with a strong aroma yet smooth when swallowed. Besides, the cafe had a rather cute face to look at while he was there. At least it was something to take his mind off a certain smiling idiot that warmed him in weird ways.

The mystery man seemed to surprise him in more ways than just appearing in his dreams. After attempting to flirt with the lady behind the desk and several questions later, he found out about the music that was supplied to hotel to be used throughout the place.

**Storie tragiche.**

He had to make the lady spell that for him. She had laughed a little at him, passing him a small hand written note. Yamamoto didn't fail to notice the small heart at the end of that note. Scratching his cheek, he finally realised that maybe he shouldn't have flirted with her that much.

The baseball player googled the name of that album and was led to finding out more about the musician behind the beautifully pain music.

_Gokudera Hayato._

Grinning (like an idiot), he made his way into the restaurant, hoping to see the silverette. Hayato, that name was well known throughout the music industry as a child prodigy. Yamamoto was very amused at that fact. Though he dressed the part, he didn't think that the foul mouthed man would be a musician. From the way he talked, Yamamoto was going to think that Hayato was involved in the mafia or something.

Circling the restaurant twice, he still didn't see the head of silver. It was only when the manager of the restaurant came up to him, offering him a table that he stopped looking.

Disappointed, he sat asking for coffee and stared at his phone. He was starting to find out a lot more of the man than his dreams showed.


	9. Idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight smut mentioned as Gokudera continues having weird dreams about Yamamoto.

He was exhausted. The crowd that night had been really good and from his agent's mood, it seemed the sponsors present were impressed as well. That was good. It meant he would be left alone for the remaining of his time in Japan. Not that he had much time left here. There wasn't any other conferences or meetings arranged so he had one last concert to play in two days and he was done. His Japan tour ended then.

Maybe he could leave a couple of days later. He wanted to tour around Japan without having his agent breathing down his neck about sponsorship deals or practices or concerts. He wanted to have some time wandering around the country his mother was born in.

Ruffling his damp hair with the fluffy towel, his other hand reaching for his lighter and filled pack of cigarettes. He was going straight to bed after one stick. Exhausted from his show and the lack of adequate sleep, his mood was on a downward spiral. Pushing the sliding doors for the balcony, he stepped out, already lighting a cigarette on his lips. The towel draped around his neck, Gokudera leaned against the railing and stared out the empty dark sky.

He wondered if it would rain tonight.

 

* * *

 

He felt like a stalker. Sort of. But he can't be blamed. Everything he needed was available on the world wide web. It wasn't like he was snooping around for news. It was just there. All he had to do was to Google the name Gokudera Hayato and he found out quite a bit about the man.

He found out that he was a genius with the piano and was well versed in other instruments as well. Hayato started off playing difficult pieces that gained attention from the public which led to him earning his own solo concert when his first composed piece won some prize.

They were the same age. That was started on the Wikipedia page he found.

Before he knew it, he had just spent hours reading about the musician who was foul mouthed in private and had beautiful green eyes that seemed sad. It was becoming an unhealthy obsession. Yamamoto knew that. So, he turned off his cellphone and laptop, choosing to sleep.

His coach had called him later that day, thanking him as well as informing the results of the sponsorship. It seemed he had to meet with the company officially to finalize some documents and payments. Sounds like good news but that didn't occupy his mind unlike a particular man of his dreams.

The baseball player laughed at that. Man of his dreams... That sounded odd. Well, maybe he would meet him tonight again. Not like Haytao has failed showing up yet.

 

* * *

 

His back arched against the bed and his hands grabbed fistfuls of the sheets. His teeth sunk into tanned skin, trying to silence his voice. His legs were wrapped around someone and his heels were forcing the body closer.

Panted breathes fill his ears and Gokudera squeezed his eyes shut as another wave of pleasure sent shivers down his spine. Nursing the spot he bit with his tongue and lips had earned him a deep throaty moan.

He rolled his head back, arching so that one spot would be abused repeatedly. His partner seemed to have realised that, slipping a pillow under him. The sheets were a mess because of them and now Gokudera had forgo crushing them into his palms and was scratching down a toned back.

His name sounded so nice with that voice. Hoarse and deep. Their lips met only because he wanted the man to stop calling his name and to stop himself from replying.

Strong arms were circled around him and when he felt himself getting close, Gokudera had been the first one to pull away from the kiss. His eyes opened, meeting his partner's. Dark, hazy eyes stared back as he came, shaking and moaning his partner's name.

 

* * *

 

Gokudera woke, groaning. He grabbed the other pillow and covered it over his face. Maybe if he tried suffocating himself right now, he wouldn't feel that fucking embarrassed. It was all that bastard's fault. Him and his stupid smile that felt so warm. His voice that made his name sound so smooth.

_Idiot._

He had to stop thinking about that idiot. Yamamoto... That was the name he said in his dream. He wondered how loud he was in reality. _Oh God._ He hoped he didn't actually moan that name. _Fuck._ Grabbing his cigarettes, he got out of bed because now he need to change.


	10. Stalking

He was well on his way to getting himself killed. That was what his agent said earlier in the years they have met. The pianist was midway through his second pack of cigarettes since waking up from that dream last night. The dark circles under his eyes were getting worse with the lack of sleep and he was irritable.

Gokudera splashed the cold water to his face, cooling himself. He tapped his wet fingers on his closed eyes, trying to relax them. The Italian looked horrible. At least, he had the day off. His agent wouldn't even be bothering him today since Gokudera had cussed into the phone earlier.

_Yamamoto._

That name was ringing in his mind and he couldn't stop thinking about that stupid smile he had seen. He wiped down his face and stared at his reflection. That dream was becoming to real but at the same time he knew it was impossible for it to be. Yesterday had been the first time he met with those eyes or that stupid face so it couldn't have been a drunken one night stand he had forgotten. Besides, the dreams didn't seem to be the same.

He was losing his mind. Dreams were never meant to make any sense. He was over analysing everything. It was just a dream. Gokudera started to strip, needing to take another shower. Maybe time out of the room would actually get his mind off thinking about a particular idiot.

 

* * *

 

This couldn't be considered creepy. He was in a public space. It wasn't like he was being a stalker. He didn't actually stalk. There were things that he already knew and those that he had found out online.

He did spend the last two hours in the same cafe of the hotel, watching for a familiar head of silver. Staring at his wrist watch, he sighed. Okay. Maybe he was being a little creepy. He had to admit that after the waitress came by to fill his fifth cup of coffee.

The baseball player hadn't been able to get a good sleep after that dream. He woke up panting and grabbing his sheets. He remembered hearing his name fall from those lips and his heart skipped a heart.

In the dreams, they felt so close and intimate. Yamamoto felt like he knew the man but doesn't recall where he would have met him. He wouldn't forget but he doesn't remember.

Lifting the cup, he sighed. This was getting him a headache. He had a couple of hours before he was expected to meet up with his coach to talk about the sponsorship. Maybe he should just leave now. Waiting like this seems silly.

But just as he was paying, he saw the face that he had been waiting for. Yamamoto tossed the cash to the counter was already chasing down the lobby to the street. A familiar scent of smoke led him towards the right and he saw the vulgar man, walking with his hands in his pockets.

 _ **Now, he was stalking**_. Because he didn't know what he should say.


	11. Bad pickup lines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yamamoto stalking. Gokudera staring. Silly, fluffy end at this chapter.

Maybe a good cuppa at the cafe with the cute barista would help lift his mood. Yawning, he mentally cursed the man that has been disturbing his sleep. He was going to need a double shot at this rate. The streets weren't quite busy yet since the morning crowd had died down and it wasn't quite time for the lunch crowd yet.

Gokudera was a little pleased that he wouldn't have to deal with idiots right now. He already had one to deal with in his mind. Another couple more would probably get on his nerves. Despite the streets being empty, the Italian felt like someone was following him. Call it instincts but it was an odd feeling that had him frowning. It may just be his imagination.

Ignoring the nagging feeling, he pushed the door into the cafe, hearing the soft chimes of the bell above the door. His lips did curl a little, seeing the face behind the counter. The barista smiled at him as he approached. "Told you, you would be coming back for more. The same?" Gokudera rolled his eyes before he did smile a little. He could already feel his mood lifting a little. "Same but with a double shot. And..." He stared towards the glass displays that had some pastries, sandwiches, bowls of salads and juices. "That sandwich." Pointing towards the club sandwich, he figured he might as well have his lunch here.

"Sure. I'll heat it up for you. Here, a number tag." The barista handed him a small wooden block with the number 59 craved on it. "Thanks." The pianist made his way towards the tables along the windows before he actually realised that he hasn't paid yet. 

Before he could make his way back to the counter to pay for his food, the cafe door chimed again and his eyes fell on the person walking in. Dressed casually in a pair of faded jeans and a cotton teeshirt, the man looked good and Gokudera had to remind himself that despite how good he looked, that man was the one reason he was lacking sleep. His eyes narrowed and he turned his head away immediately after their eyes met.

 

* * *

 

 

He was not stalking. He just... Happened to be... Ah, who was he kidding. He was actually stalking a pianist into a cafe that he knew nothing about. Their eyes met and he knew instantly that he was recongised. Yamamoto approached the counter and was staring at the various named drinks until he heard fingers tapping on the wooden counter, urging him to place an order.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he found the first drink that sounded familiar to him. "A green tea latte, please." After all that coffee at the hotel, the baseball player didn't think he could stomach another cup of stale tasting coffee. Though, this particular cafe looked decent enough and the aroma of the coffee beans was inviting.

He was handed a numbered block after paying for his drink. Yamamoto turned, uncertain if he should get a table of his own or should he... His eyes stopped at the table located at the end of the long stretch of windows and he smiled. A pair of green eyes were staring right at him and Yamamoto had started walking towards the head of silver.

He got caught staring, _again_. Gokudera had turned his head so fast that his fringe hit against his cheek. Covering over his mouth with his palm, he tried focusing on the street outside. He could feel his cheeks heating up a little at getting caught. "I guess, you recognised me... Mind if I joined you?"

Gokudera bit on his lip before he tossed out an insult. "There are plenty of empty tables." He could still feel the heat on his cheeks and the slight discomfort at seeing the man he had been dreaming about. Not to mention those dreams had been rather explicit lately. "I know. But I would rather share the table with you, if that's okay."

Yamamoto realised he was starting to sound like a creeper and maybe a little pushy but he really wanted to find out more about this man who kept appearing in his dreams. Despite knowing that what he dreamt may not be real, he still wanted to know Gokudera Hayato. He stared a little at the wrist that had a couple of studded bracelets before he found himself looking at the other's reflection in the window.

"'tch. If you have to, _idiot_." That insult came so easily before he could stop himself. Gokudera continued to stare out as he didn't trust himself to stop staring at the handsome man across him and not think about his dreams. Green eyes landed on the similar wooden numbered block placed next to his.

**80.**

An awkward silence filled their space but Yamamoto was a little nervous, which has not happened in a while. That quietness was broken when the barista had brought Gokudera's drink over. "Here you go. Double shot with something extra." The cute barista winked at the pianist as he left. The Italian actually laughed when he saw the small round white puffs floating in his dark mocha. He was given marshmallows and it was all because he had mentioned it previously in a short exchange with the barista.

As he laughed, the baseball player watched and listened. A smile crept on his face and he registered the way Hayato was laughing. He liked it. Though he did feel some other emotion that was brewing but he couldn't quite put a finger on it.

Scratching his cheek, he waited for the other to calm down a little before he spoke. "Uh... I think we both find the other familiar but I don't quite remember how or when... But," He held up his hand. "I'm Takeshi Yamamoto." He figured it would be wiser to pretend that he didn't know anything about the pianist right now before he ended up sounding like a creeper.

Gokudera glared at the hand before he rolled his eyes. Something about this man annoyed him but at the same time, he was keen to know more. Taking the hand in his, he gave it a firm shake. "This is stupid..." He said as he pulled his hand away. "Hayato. Gokudera."

Both had been a little amused at the names but neither said anything.

His drink was brought with lesser enthusiasm than Hayato's and Yamamoto wondered why. "Um... So, am I the only one who thinks we know each other?"

That question had caught him off guard but Gokudera tried to act relaxed and leaned back, crossing his legs. "Maybe. Why do you think we know each other? Please tell me that's not some bad pick up line you use. Because that's lame, idiot."

_Idiot._

There it was again. Yamamoto chuckled at that. He didn't think that it would make him smile so much but that insult got him smiling like, an idiot. The pianist must be thinking that he was laughing at the comments instead of the insult since he added. "Okay, now I officially know you're bad with pick up lines."

"A- It's not..." He smiled. "It's just nice, I think." Gokudera would have melted for that smile if it wasn't the fact that this was the man responsible for him losing sleep. "And no, that's not a pick up line I would use." Yamamoto picked up his cup of green liquid, sipping before he said. "Your eyes are really beautiful." He saw the shade of pink rising and he grinned. "That. That is what I would have said."

_Oh my God._

Gokudera's eyes had widened and he had to look away. "Idiot." He murmured. They were behaving a little more comfortable now. So, maybe this meeting wouldn't be too awkward or uncomfortable.

Yamamoto held his cup between his hands, leaning forward. "Hayato..." He watched the other flinched at the name. "To be honest, I have been having dreams about someone that looked awfully like you." He had been staring at the cup for a bit and he didn't know how the other was taking in this information.

Dreams...

Gokudera opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish out of water. "What the f-..." He stared around the cafe. "You have been getting dreams about me?" The Italian pointed to himself. "What do you mean dreams? And me?"

"Um..." Yamamoto placed his cup back, rubbing the back of his neck, looking up. "Just dreams... And you were a part of it. There were parts that didn't add up but it was always with you... You beside me with gunshots in the background... You holding me... Um..." He looked away. "You with me.." Before he could finish his words, a hand had clamped over his mouth and his eyes focused on the reddened face in front of him.

"Oh my fucking God, idiot. Don't. Nope. Don't fucking continue." From the look on his face, Yamamoto was guessing that they were experiencing the same dreams. He started smiling under the hand. At least he wasn't the only one.

"Stop smiling, you idiot." Gokudera sneered as he kept his hand over the idiot's mouth. "I know you are, even without looking so stop." His heart was racing. He was not the only one having those dreams so it meant that Takeshi... Yamamoto has had the same explicit dreams he did. "Fuck." He mumbled. "You are to forget all those dreams. Erase those. Completely remove them from your mind." His eyes widened as he tried to threaten the man sitting across him. His hand felt the smile broadened.

"Stop smiling, idiot." Gokudera pulled his hand away and flicked his finger on Yamamoto's forehead. _**"Idiot."**_ He added just because he could.


	12. Bad dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mention of a death scene.

Even though he gave several warnings about smiling, the idiot was still grinning ear to ear at him. Gokudera tried to ignore his face and his entire existence at the cafe. That way, maybe, he could pretend all of this was just a nightmare waiting for him to wake. But that seemed impossible.

The one person responsible for his wretched mood right now was sitting opposite him with a wide grin and has been staring at him since they've established that they have been sharing dreams. "Will you stop staring. It's fucking creepy. Idiot." Now that he was somewhat comfortable around Yamamoto, he has stopped holding himself back with the insults and it was starting to seem that the other appreciated the insults.

_Weirdo._

"I've been taught to keep eye contact when talking, Hayato." Despite only meeting for the first time, the idiot has been calling him by his first name and Gokudera didn't make an effort to correct him either. Green eyes narrowed and he sighed. Even the small white puffs in his mocha couldn't perk his mood right now.

It was one thing to have those dreams about the man sitting opposite him and a whole other thing when that same man was experiencing the same thing. His thoughts wandered back to the dreams of late and his cheeks flushed. He had sounded so needy and whiney. The pianist covered over his cheeks, staring at his cup. "Idiot."

"Hmm?" Yamamoto leaned forward, tilting his head a little. He saw the colour rising on the Italian's cheeks and held back his chuckle. So, despite being a foul mouthed Italian, Gokudera Hayato could still be a blushing man. The baseball player wouldn't have thought so though, if the dreams he has had held any truth to them.

"Wipe that fucking grin off your face, idiot." He glared at the idiot. "Stop disturbing my sleep too. Idiot." Gokudera said it as though it was actually the other's fault for his lack of sleep but both knew it was neither's. "Stop appearing in my dreams. And... Stop grinning."

"I can't help it. I thought I was going insane with those dreams and then seeing you." He rubbed his chin and Gokudera stared at the scar, remembering scenes from his dream. "We seemed..." Yamamoto smiled. "Familar in those dreams." After sharing all those dreams with this particular man, he had realised that sharing a life with other wasn't too bad. The dreams showed him a life that he could have possibly had but never chased after. Right now, there seemed to be someone that piked his interest and he wondered if things would start from there. His eyes stared at the hands, smiling a little as he saw the lack of a wedding band among the various silver rings adoring the slender fingers.

"Those dreams... You said..." Gokudera started then stopped. "No. We are not talking about those right now." His cheeks were pinked and he didn't want to deal with that right now. "Have you been stalking me?"

Yamamoto almost choked on his green tea at that question. Coughing, he placed his cup back on the table that separated the two. He rubbed the back of his neck and laughed sheepishly after that.

"Creep."

"Hey! To be honest, I just needed to know okay. After all the dreams, especially the ones of late."

"So, you decided to be a creep and stalk me at the hotel I'm staying."

"Okay. One, please stop calling me a creep. I don't mind idiot but creep, nope. Two, I saw you at the hotel that night by coincidence. I happened to be there at the hotel you were staying for a meeting and you were there. Three, I figured if I didn't make a move now, I might regret it."

The Italian hadn't been expecting that full confession and to be truthful, he was a little surprised and it showed on his face. "Besides, I wanted to find out more about the handsome pianist behind the elevator music."

If he was surprised earlier, now he was full blown shocked. So, the idiot knew. "Bastard." His eyes had widened and his jaw was slightly ajar. Yamamoto was chuckling and even though Gokudera enjoyed the laughter, he still leaned over to flick at the other's forehead again. "Creep." He said it because Yamamoto specifically said not to.

"Hey now." His finger was caught and Yamamoto was grinning. "And you know what, I liked how you looked." The way the other was smiling told him that Yamamoto meant it more than his current physical appearance and his cheeks went a shade darker. "Idiot." Gokudera pulled his hand free and fell back to his seat.

He was feeling a little hopeless around the other and somehow his mind wandered back to that one dream with Yamamoto dying in his arms. That familiar sadness filled his chest and he lifted his gaze up. "The dreams... Do you believe?"

"To a certain extend. If I didn't, I wouldn't be sitting here, staring at you and knowing exactly why you're blushing."

If he could, Gokudera would have tossed the cup of mocha at the other but that would be a waste since it was a good cup of coffee. "Idiot. Can you stop being a fucking tease and be serious."

"If I was a fucking tease..." Yamamoto smiled. "I'm sure you know how that ends."

"You're fucking impossible." Gokudera stood from his seat, ready to leave the fucking idiot. But a firm grip to his hand had him stopping. "Alright. Alright. I'm sorry okay. It's just... It got me dizzy thinking that you're real."

He softened. "Idiot." Gokudera knew he shouldn't act too familiar with this man that he knew nothing of except his name but still his heart missed a beat feeling a tanned hand on his skin. "Just for your information, this is not how you should be picking up man. At random cafes and being a jerk."

That made Yamamoto chuckle. "Can I be an idiot then?" That had Gokudera smiling a little before he feigned a frown and rolled his eyes. "When are you not one?"

The afternoon didn't turn out half bad. His mood was slightly better, partly due to the overly sweet gesture of the barista and another part was because of a certain smiling idiot. Gokudera swears his idiot virus is infectious, as well as his smile.

At certain points during their meeting, Gokudera had slipped a laughter or smile in and Yamamoto realised that those usually came when he was an idiot, apparently.

The hours passed with neither keeping track of their time. The cafe filled and emptied with them not noticing. Even when the cute barista tried catching Gokudera's gaze, the Italian paid no attention as he was trying to stop a particular idiot from talking about those damn embarrassing dreams.

But when the soft buzzing interrupted them, they finally realised that it was time for them to part. Both cups sat empty on the coffee table and though Gokudera had voiced his displeasure several times at Yamamoto, neither seemed willing to move.

"Shit. I need to leave. I have a meeting in an hour..." The baseball player frowned and maybe he was pouting a little. "This..." He started before a smile broke his words. "This was nice."

"'tch. Stop being so melodramatic, idiot." Gokudera crossed his legs again, leaning forward a little to steal the mobile device Yamamoto had left on the table. "You know, you should have a password lock for this..."

"And you know, it's rude to take someone's phone without permission." Yamamoto grinned but made no attempt to take his mobile back. The pianist swiped his thumb across the touch screen and tilted his head. An image of a stadium was set as the background and despite not being a sports fan, he could tell that it was the Yankees Stadium. He's been there a couple of times because he was touring the States and he was forced.

"There." He handed the cellphone back to the baseball player with his number keyed it. Gokudera didn't say he gave his number merely handing the phone back. Yamamoto knew, of course. So, once he had the phone back in his hand, he edited the name in his phone back from Gokudera Hayato to *Hayato. That way this particular name would remain top on his list.

"So, I guess, I'll see you tonight."

"Idiot. No. Don't disturb my sleep."

Yamamoto laughed as he stood. "Can't stop. Won't stop." He reached his hand out, pushing a strand of stray fringe behind Gokudera's ear. "Besides, I like waking up to a pretty face." With that, he left the Italian blushing still seated at the table.

"Idiot." He muttered long after Yamamoto was gone.

 

* * *

 

The taste of blood strong on his tongue and he had to spit but that proves futile. Gokudera pushed his tongue against his cheek, wincing. There was bruise forming and his gums were bleeding. But it was nothing like the pain that made his chest feel tight.

His fingers closed around the expensive Italian fabric, something he had insisted, and he felt hot tears rolling down his cheeks. The body he held was slowly draining of life and there was nothing he could.

The battlefield felt so distant as he watched the man smile weakly back at him. A hand brushed away his tears and he heard a familiar laughter. "I didn't think I would see you cry again, Hayato."

"Idiot. Shut up and stop joking." He hastily wiped away his tears. But Yamamoto continued to smile. "I love you, Hayato." Gokudera start shaking. "Always have."

"Shut up, idiot. Stop talking like you're dying." His grip on the other tightened and he couldn't stop the tears from falling. The hand that had been on his cheek fell and his eyes widened. "Oi... Takeshi... Oi..." He checked for any signs of life and he bit on his lips, shaking so hard after finding that the man had taken his last breath. "Idiot, didn't you always say you'll wait for my reply... Idiot..." The Storm Guardian clenched his fists, pressing his face to the lifeless body. "I love you, idiot."

His hands laid the body down softly, with the promise to come back once he had settled all the unresolved debts with the enemy. His bombs placed between his fingers and everything became about revenge, Gokudera stormed through the hordes of enemies, leaving no mercy as he left a trail of bodies behind him.

 

* * *

 

He sat up, panting. This was not how he wanted his dream to go. At least it was better than having a wet dream, now that he knew Yamamoto had the same dreams. His heart was racing and he instinctively reached for his mobile on the bed side, only to realised the idiot has yet to give his number. Groaning, he almost tossed his phone aside when a text message buzzed in.

> **//I'm alive. So go back to sleep. -Idiot.//**

"'tch."

> **//Who said I was worried. Idiot.//**

Gokudera fell back onto the bed, hand holding his mobile under his pillow, falling back to sleep easily now he didn't have to worry about some idiot.


	13. Gift to a Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly bickering and sweet nonsense.

The week had been filled with stealing lunch breaks between practices and shows with the idiot. Each had their own busy schedules to meet and neither made the promise for anything more. Though they did end up seeing each other rather frequently and Gokudera was putting it down as the idiot knew where he was staying.

Everything about this trip has gone exceptionally smooth. His tour and the meetings with the sponsors had all returned with positive results. That, kept his agent off from bugging him and the pianist was thankful for that.

Despite already meeting Yamamoto in reality, his dreams were still happening and what was worse was that the dreams seemed to be deepening. The dreams were starting to reveal a lot of other emotions that Gokudera thought he had long forsaken.

Love, affection, longing... **Trust.**

They were slowly getting to know each other but seemed too familiar to be strangers. Gokudera still couldn't shake that odd feeling that went down his spine whenever he saw that idiot's smiling face. That same feeling he had when he woke, sitting in sweat from another dream with Yamamoto dying in his arms. It was an odd feeling that he might have _loved_ someone. Gokudera Hayato was not capable of love, let alone trust someone. It was a part of the dream that he never truly believed in.

Doing his finger exercises in his preparation room, he tried to clear his mind. Questions and things he couldn't explain shouldn't be cluttering his mind right now. He had a show in ten minutes and he was still sitting here, thinking about a damn idiot.

He was certain that Yamamoto's idiot virus was infectious.

A tap to his door reminded him that the hall was already packed and ready for him. The Italian took a couple of deep breaths, preparing himself as usual, before he opened the door to follow after his agent.

The hall was dimmed but he could tell from where he was standing behind the curtains, that every single seat had been occupied. A single spotlight to his grand piano had the crowd hushed and that was his cue. The handsomely dressed Italian stepped forward to the center of the stage, bowing his head a little before he moved to take a seat before the piano. A spotlight followed his every move and Gokudera was going about to start his first piece when a single loud clapping torn his attention away from the black and white keys.

Annoyed, Gokudera turned his head towards the commotion of hushing and the culprit. His eyes widened and he had to clench his hands into tight fists or he would have rushed off stage to strangle that _idiot._ Taking deep breathes, he looked back to his keys. He will deal with the damn idiot later.

Angry looks turned to him and he realised that might have been the wrong time to clap his hands. Sinking a little in to his seat, he rubbed the back of neck, bowing his head, apologetically. Well, at least Hayato knows of his presence now. He has been trying to find out more about the tour dates and the pianist had been insistent that Yamamoto stayed out of it. **It was not his thing** , were his words. He may not know much about piano or concerts but he enjoyed the music that Hayato played and to him, that was a good enough reason for him to be paying a ridiculous amount for this concert ticket.

 

* * *

 

At the end of the concert, he had witnessed a couple of the older ladies present dabbing their eyes with a tissue or handkerchief. The entire hall had been silenced with the beautiful music that filled the large space and Yamamoto had closed his eyes, enjoying. This was his first experience with Hayato at the piano. He has heard numerous pieces off the internet but the real deal was the best. A couple of times, he had caught Gokudera looking at his direction but those moments were short and the Italian was pulled back to his music.

The baseball player followed the crowd out despite wanting to stay. More like he was forced out by the crowd. So, he wandered down the hallway, looking for some way to get the talented pianist. No one was going to believe him if he said he knew the pianist. Yamamoto has had his own fair share of fans and this was usually the same lame reason they gave. He was going to sound like a groupie if he said that. But before he could come up with a decent plan, a text came in.

> **//IDIOT.//**

Yamamoto had to chuckle.

> **//Where can I see the handsome pianist then?//**

The small bouquet was getting stares and the baseball player grinned. Maybe he was getting recongised and tomorrow he was going to get a call from his coach asking him for details about a possible date. Which, technically wouldn't be lying. He was kind of seeing someone, even though they didn't specifically say they were. It was complicated. What Yamamoto knows is that he enjoyed spending time with the foul mouthed Italian even though the time was usually short.

> **//I'll meet you at the lobby.//**

 

* * *

 

"What the fuck is that?" Gokudera questioned as he pointed towards the bright bouquet in the other's hand. His eyes were as wide as saucers and he had balled his fists up. "You did not just buy me flowers, idiot!"

"Surprise." Yamamoto grinned, holding the bouquet of camellias up. "Yes I did and it's rude not to accept it." He quickly followed behind the pianist after Gokudera had turned around, speed walking out the minute he said that.

"Idiot. How did you even get tickets? Didn't I say to not come?"

"I bought them online. You did."

"Then why are you here? With a fucking bouquet!"

"Because I wanted to see Hayato in his natural habit."

That sentence earned him a jab to his gut and the flowers dropped from his hand into Gokudera's nibble fingers. "Damn it." Yamamoto laughed at the sight of Gokudera cursing as he held the flowers. "Take it back." The Italian's face was turning red and he was holding the flowers out as though the bouquet was an offending item.

"Nope. Those are for Hayato."

"Take them back, idiot. I'm not walking down this street with a fucking bouquet of pink flowers."

"Those are camellias and they signify good luck."

"I don't care what they signify. Just take them back!"

"Let's try a different coffee tonight."

"Idiot are you listening to me? Take the damn flowers, camellias or whatever back."

Yamamoto grinned. "No." Then, he continued his way down towards the same cafe he met Gokudera.

"Idiot! Oi!" He was already shouting but the baseball idiot was already halfway down the street and he was still holding the damn bouquet. Feeling embarrassed, he tucked the flowers under his jacket and chased after the idiot.

He has yet to get back at the idiot for ruining his concentration for the entire night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reason why Yamamoto had picked the flowers:  
> CAMELLIA: Admiration; Perfection; Good Luck, Gift to a Man
> 
> http://thelanguageofflowers.com/
> 
> All those were what he wanted to convey to Gokudera.


	14. Painful ends

Tossing the stupid bouquet onto the table, rolling his eyes. That idiot had insisted that Gokudera took the flowers, so here he was back in his hotel room with the bright pink sitting on his table. His jacket draped over the chair, the pianist thought back to their night at the cafe. The same barista was there and had given Gokudera a smile but this time he realised that the barista was merely hinting about the possible relationship between Yamamoto and himself. Gokudera had chided the baseball player about the clap but left out about taking his attention throughout the show. Yamamoto only smiled with his eyes dreamy, staring back at the pianist, chin resting in his palm, replying, "I got your attention, right?" The rest of the night had them bickering between sips of coffee and small bites of treats. Remembering now, Gokudera was a little relieved that he was alone right now. That smile playing over his lips was not something he wanted the idiot to see. Much less letting Yamamoto know the reason for the smile.

Undoing the rest of his tie, he left it with his jacket, choosing to leave the flowers as they are. He was not going to fuss about, looking for a vase right now. It was not like he cared about the flowers. He did not, in fact. What he wanted right now was a long, hot bath and maybe have a night of undisturbed sleep.

 

* * *

 

The taste of blood was strong in his mouth, a strong sting made him wince as he moved. Opening his eyes, the bright lights and white ceiling blinded him. Shielding his eyes as the memories from before flooded back. Remembering, he jolted up. "Yamamoto! Where is he!" That was a wrong move. His sides started to burn with pain and he had to fall back to the bed, an arm around his waist. "Ahhhfuck." Biting on his lips, he tasted more blood. "Where the fuck is Yamamoto!" He shouted with whatever force that he could muster. All he got was shushing from the nurse attending to him. Frustrated, Gokudera sat up despite the pain, tugging and pulling all the tapes, wires and random things off him. "You can't do that..." "I can do whatever the fuck I want. Now where is Yamamoto?!" Still not getting the answer he was seeking, he staggered out of the room, leaning against the wall for support. He must have opened his wound as the pain across his waist intensified. He was practically dragging himself across the hallway till he found his answer.

A soft beeping lured him into a room. White curtains surrounded something and Gokudera had to find out. His eyes tried making out whatever that the curtains were hiding as he slowly made his way towards it. His hand grabbed the curtain, feeling his heart thumped even harder. His fingers curled tighter on the white fabric. He yanked the curtain open, a sting hurt his gut but the sight before him was what made him cry.

 

* * *

 

His eyes opened, damp from his dream. Panting and still tearing, Gokudera wiped down his face, sighing. Stretching his hand out, he grabbed his phone, dialing the last call he received. "Can you come over?"


End file.
